The Grand Finale
by SomebodyAlreadyHasThatUserName
Summary: What happens after Grandma's story was done?


The day of her grandmother's funeral was bright and cold. The little girl buried her face in her mother's shoulder, as the coffin containing Grandma Boggs was lowered into the ground. Her soft voice would never again tell her the most wonderful stories, or her delicate hands smooth away the fears from her face. Nobody else knew how wonderful the old woman was – they simply stood around like solemn, unmoved trees, bare of emotion. They saw her everyday, but never knew her.

The child didn't eat at the little funeral party, and refused to talk to anyone. She found a corner and curled up, eyes like glass marbles. Her parents nervously eyed one another, with one planning to speed-dial a therapist, and the other thinking of getting her a pony. Neither saw her start to cry. They weren't little girl tears, but small, shaking, grown-up sobs.

When the family got home, the child shot up the stairs into Grandma's room. There was the big bed; the old rocking chair; and the huge, bay windows. She flung herself face down onto the first, her whole body rocking with sobs. Her only desire was to stay there forever, inhaling the last remnant of Grandma's perfume, and replaying her voice inside her head. After crying her share of tears, however, she slid off the bed and crawled across the floor. She climbed onto the rocking chair, and remembered Grandma rocking her in her lap, just before it was time to go to bed. Perhaps pitying her, Sleep took her shortly.

When the little girl awoke, the sun was setting, and turning the skies a brilliant gold and scarlet. She rubbed her face with an arm, and curled into herself. She didn't know what she wanted to do, or how to stop feeling sad, which is something most children feel all too well. So to try to feel better, she began rocking again.

Which was when she saw the white envelope sticking out of the windowpane. Bright as a feather.

Her little hands tore the flap off, and some of the letter inside; but it was still readable. She recognized the scrawled hand of her grandmother, and realized it was for her. It read:

"Dear Tabitha,

I'm sorry I haven't been feeling better, or up to telling you stories. It's hard to live and love when you're old like me. The doctors say I'm not going to get well again, and that it won't be long before I go to be with your grandpa. It makes me very sad to have to go away, but I won't leave you by yourself. Ever.

When December gets here, and the first snowfall comes, have your mama build a fire and make you hot chocolate. Then sit in the rocking chair, tucked in a blanket, and watch the snow coming down. With each snowflake, think of me, giving you a hug. I love you, my darling, and I always will.

There is someone I also love, sweetheart. He is the man from the stories I told you, so many times. He is lonely, and all by himself; and I can't go to him. One day, when you're grown and ready, go up to that castle on the hill. Knock on the big, wooden door. There, you will find him. And there, you must tell him a story. About how people live and love and die happily ever after. He will know what those words mean. He will know how much he is loved. Just as much as I love you.

Grandma."

By the time the little girl had finished reading that letter, she was a young woman. Her hair was golden ginger, and she laughed the way a rose bloomed. The boys vied for her attention, and everyone marveled at how she resembled her grandmother in her youth and beauty. Tabitha's parents were only relieved at how well they had seen her through the strange days of her childhood, and how everyone lived and loved the years they had. The neighborhood was happy, and spring seemed to be eternal.

But the seasons pass, and as spring eased into summer, so summer eased into fall, and fall slid gracefully into winter white. And as the first snowflake fell to the grass, Tabitha Boggs remembered a promise she had to keep.

So, on one grey, winter day, you could see a slender figure in white picking her way up the steep hill – to the dark, spiraled castle that nobody goes to. There, she pushes her way in, and calls out hello. A young man will emerge from the shadows, frightened and wary like a young animal. And his hands will be made of scissors.

Then young Miss Tabitha Boggs will open her mouth and say,

"Hello, Edward."

And Edward Scissorhands, ever young, will say,

"Kim."


End file.
